Theory of Avarice
by kurama-sweethart
Summary: [AU] Alphonse wanted so much to be returned to his body that even his brother couldn't sway him from his mislead idea of justification. But the Fates have another idea. [OneShot]


**Theory of Avarice  
_By Moe Shmoe_  
Genre:** Angst, AU  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings:** Spoilers for up to Lab Five, theories on homunculus and overused philosophical description.  
**Pairing:** Alphonse Elric x Lust  
**Word Count:** 1,909

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"…that each of you should learn to control his own body in a way that is holy and honorable, not in a passionate lust like the heathen, who do not know the Kingdom of God…" Thessalonians 4:4

**I.**

The fates in the stars and constellations had brought them at odds for reasons neither could fathom. Some things were just too large and incomprehensibly expansive to wrap ones mind around completely, like the theory of a never-ending universe or the bonding of particles thousands of times too small. The question of why exactly they were even _living_ was vexing and vast, straining the strings of consciousness that neither was willing to ponder.

Alphonse always lingered on the thought of existing during the long nights alone while Ed was sleeping fitfully, or their ceaseless hours traveling by train. So many questions that the Central Library couldn't dream of answering, at least not in the form that he wanted them.

The concept of living itself, of _simply_ being, was one he had never gotten used to, never quite evolved from the murky state of denial that seemed to be his very existence. Sometimes Alphonse would look down at his leather gauntlet and startle, as if forgetting he was still there at all. Sometimes he felt like he was just some cosmic spectator, watching the lives of those around him through a window in the sky; as if he really had died the night his body was taken and Alphonse Elric had been no more.

But then, he'd remind himself, Ed would be overcome by furious grief, terrorizing everyone in his path until he found whatever paradise he was searching for. The loss of his mother was bordering the fine line between longing and obsession; the death of his brother enough to drive him off the edge of sanity and back again.

And no matter how many times he'd try to convince himself that they were different, _that they were human_, their noble cause for happiness didn't seem so much different than that of the homunculi. Was that, he thought, the fire behind their passion? Loosing everything to a point that even their humanity was questioned? If that were the case, Al decided, he could relate in more ways than he liked.

If those tortured souls had nothing more to loose, nothing more to offer to the void, then would it not be their nature, _a human nature_, to seek retribution by whatever means are available to them? Did that not, in itself, prove that the homunculi were in fact human, despite their artificial birth?

Didn't that mean that he was still human, too?

"I thought you were here to kill me?" Lust asked coolly, a soft sound that reminded him childishly of a kitten's purr. Alphonse searched her eyes for fear or hatred and found, to his surprise, neither. Instead, he saw nothing but pure, raw desire: flaming like the bowels of hell were illustrated to be, only a hundred times more tragic and deserving.

"That was before." The youngest Elric answered quietly, his arms hanging unfeeling at his sides.

Lust carefully approached, cautious for his sake more than hers. "What, then, do you want?" She growled, as if afraid he had come to fight or flail with her twisted idea of ethic.

"Everyone always told me I was rational." Alphonse stated, "that brother and I complimented each other- he independent and I prudent. I had always thought that what he felt, I felt. That what he wanted was what I wanted."

Lust watched with a morbid fascination and kept her silence, a solid gesture for him to continue.

"I love my brother, but I realize now that even if our goals are the same: we aren't willing to sacrifice the same things." Al stared at the ground. "He is willing to sacrifice himself for my body. But not a thousand lives will ever be worth my brother."

"I'll make the stone."

**II.**

He was instantly hit by a wave of nausea, even if he couldn't physically, he felt its intensity on his very soul. Five columns of red water gurgled about the room, glowing eerie crimson, brought together by familiar lines and curves. As if by instinct his eyes traced them hungrily, recalling each symbol and shape, trying to send himself back to his long days of research at the library. The joint there meant something about rebirth and reincarnation, and the pentagon towards the north, meant '_le sang de l'innocent'_.

The blood of the innocent.

Lust was silent, standing at the mouth of the cavern. Al could almost feel her eyes on him, curious and intrigued. He ignored her, for the time, calculating how best to activate the array. The ingredients in the water were unbalanced and highly sensitive, and the wrong atomic arrangement could set the whole bunch off. He'd seen it once before.

Alphonse nurtured the array, adding lines when necessary and became so absorbed in his work that time had no meaning and the concept of running out of it was almost unthinkable. But strangely, neither was complaining.

"You know," He heard Lust say, and he made no move to reply. "They say that your brother is the prodigy, but you're not too bad yourself."

Al wasn't quite sure whether to be insulted at her lack of confidence in his abilities or flattered by the compliment. "We studied with the same teacher, and do all of our research together."

"It makes sense." She agreed darkly, and Al knew then that she _had to be_ the sin in its most tangible form. Her voice was husky and seductive, even when speaking to him so casually; and she held herself in a way that was as respectable as it was attractive.

Al's hand stilled over the array, and he looked at her, allowing himself to go beyond seeing to the point of _feeling_ her presence. "You're not like the others, are you?" he asked after a long time, watching the way her pale skin glowed under the straining light. He was referring to the other homunculi- sins that had seemed more concerned with the concept of being human than the actual definition.

"I guess not." Lust replied, eyes flashing. "It seems both of us aren't quite as we are perceived."

He made a move to nod but he wasn't quite sure if it came out properly. "Where are the sacrifices?" He felt primitive using such a term, one that was better left for ancient tribes giving human flesh to their gods.

"Look at the array." Lust instructed quietly, and Al suddenly noticed that the red lines weren't reflecting light.

"It's… blood." He muttered, a whisper in the hollow of his armor.

She nodded slowly. "Perceptive. Those prisoners from Laboratory Five that your brother was so adamant about keeping alive were killed, right here, by my hand." The homunculi informed him, glancing down at her palm-less gloves. They allowed her the liberty of touch, but no other the blessing of seeing them. "The souls of hundreds are still here, waiting for the crippled form of salvation only you and your alchemy can offer."

Alphonse was surprised at her rhythmical way of speaking, as if reciting scripture. There had never been much time to read any sort of poetry, and for some reason he felt ambitious to read every sonnet he could get his hands on, once he returned home.

Home…with his body, new and stiff from the years of hanging in limbo, waiting in intrepidly for its soul to call it back. With a nod of sudden ambition, he pulled his eyes away from the woman, the flawless doll that symbolized everything about her, and forcefully pressed his hands to the array.

Instantly, everything went black.

**III.**

There was nothing but endless, limitless red: thick and hot and _alive_. Alphonse couldn't feel, couldn't see, could only _be;_ writhing in the fire that engulfed him, whatever _he_ was. The pain was searing and bright and if he could have opened his eyes, he'd have surely been blinded.

He didn't know where Lust was, or rather, where he was, and as much as his brain pulsed to connect with the sensation all he could think about was the throbbing pain that worsened the more he became aware of it.

Al was thrown to the concrete, wincing as the shards of his broken rib cut into an organ. In less time than he could think, he connected with the feeling of the shattered bone: realized that he had his body back, that the Philosopher's Stone had been created! It had worked!

But… wasn't the stone supposed to be the ultimate product of their transmutation? Why did it skip step two and go straight to returning him to his body? Something didn't feel right, and instantly he remembered his infamous accomplice. Forcing his eyes open, straining them through the darkness, he spoke in a voice that was just as hollow as before.

"Lust?" Alphonse asked tentatively, reaching an arm in front of him, groping at the empty space. A clenched sob was his only answer.

"To be born again…" He heard her say, and wincing against his snapped ribs, stumbled towards her voice. "Of course. The Philosopher's Stone… what's kept me alive…"

Al felt his brow furrow almost involuntarily. "Are you alright?" He called again, hand still clenching in desperate attempt to find something, _anything_, other than the solitude.

"Greed?" Lust asked again, voice as soft and confident as always. There was no hesitancy, no fear there: Only that same unadulterated desire and want.

Alphonse felt his body shudder, and he bit his lip to suppress a moan. "What are you talking about? I'm… I'm back! We're human! We-"

"No, boy." The homunculi growled, reaching out with her cold, lifeless hands to cup his face. "We aren't human." She spoke to him as if he were an old friend, looked at him with recognition.

He wrenched away from her, glowering. "What do you mean? I can feel! I have skin, and blood and-"

"I have skin and blood." Lust answered quietly, tracing the contours of his face with her fingers, running lightly over the subtle planes. She extended a nail, trailed the fine point down his cheek, pressing _just so_ to break the skin.

Al pulled away again, pressing his hand to the cut and scowling. "What'd you do that for-"

Lust smiled, as his eyes widened in the darkness, desperately searching for the wound. "Where'd it go? I felt it, the blood, right here-"

The homunculi didn't answer, bringing the edge to her own face and doing the same, smiling sadly as Alphonse's eyes widened, watching in horror as the skin healed itself, the blood soaking away as if it had never been there at all. The boy went through several expressions, each as unique and different as the last. First disgust, then denial, then the realization that he could no longer feel the point of broken bone slicing into his abdomen.

"I'm… a homunculus?" Al asked in a voice that was impossible to distinguish. How he kept from choking on a sob, he never new.

"The Fates have quite the sense of humor." Lust said softly, never taking her eyes off the boy's perfect face, round and flawless. "You revived _yourself_. After all these years, I never had considered…"

Alphonse frowned, squeezing his eyes shut. "So you're saying," he mumbled slowly, desperately trying to cup the stream of consciousness and knowledge that was suddenly flooding through his brain.

The truth behind all truths. "That transmutations that alter your own chemical makeup are impossible." Al finished just as quietly, not bothering to open his eyes that had shifted from dull bronze to the fiery violet that he had admired so in Lust.

She said nothing and made no move to acknowledge that he had spoken, but agreed silently and that was enough for him. "Then why didn't you…?"

"The Philosopher's Stone is what is keeping me alive in this state, as it is." Her voice was laced with venomous sorrow, an almost murderous edge that made Al cringe inwardly. "The stone couldn't do anything for me. Can never do anything for me."

His eyes downcast, Alphonse slipped his hand behind the silky, porcelain-like expanse of her neck, noting dully the red mark of ouroboros searing itself into his palm. In one fluid, natural motion, he brought their lips together almost bruisingly, swallowing her moan.

"Well, you have me now." Greed drawled, smirking. "We'll get that old woman together for lying to you, _to us_, and spend eternity as the serpent itself: devouring ourselves until we achieve the satisfaction that we can't reach."

Lust nipped at his lips, growling. "We'll kill them all."

"Yes," He agreed, "and my brother will be first."

**_Fin._

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**Greed!Al is love.

I couldn't resist after readingCH54 of the manga. It was just too tempting (even though it sticks with the anime story of homunculi birth...?) I figured that it'd be just Al's luck to turn homunculus. ;)

Reviews are nice. I know it's not my best, but that doesn't make me any less proud of it.


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